


Sweet Bread

by jonagold



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: (in passing) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baking, Fantastic Racism, Friendship, Gen, In any universe Kratos is trying to play the long game with Lloyd, Memories, Mild Language, Parent Kratos Aurion, Parenthood, Set in Ozette, but boy does something always go wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonagold/pseuds/jonagold
Summary: "It's not the same."In which an old recipe threatens to give Kratos a difficult day.[Originally posted on FF.net, 08-29-2012.]
Relationships: Kratos Aurion & Lloyd Irving, Kratos Aurion & Mithos Yggdrasill, Lloyd Irving & Mithos Yggdrasill
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Sweet Bread

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a side-story to a much longer fic. Pretty sure this doesn't count as Crulloyd, unless the definition has been broadened within the last decade.
> 
> This has been edited from the version currently on FF.net. Changes include wording, the description of Ozette, and small tweaks to Mithos' characterization (that maniac will haunt me until the day I die).

"Why are you letting him go on like that?"

Kratos looked over his shoulder, startled by the approach of the speaker; but when he saw who it was he turned his attention back to the center of the yard. Lloyd stood in the patchy grass, an equal distance from the house and the post fence, repeating a swordfighting exercise. Kratos watched him complete another set and said, "I don't see what the problem is."

"Look. On the second strike." Mithos pointed. "He's losing his balance. That blade would glance off anything it hit, if he managed to keep hold of it at all."

The exercise was a simple four-strike set. Lloyd brought the sword down from above his right shoulder, cut the blade horizontally across his chest, swung it up from his right hip, and finally brought it once more across his chest to return to the starting position. He would do two or three sets in a row, then stop to catch his breath before jumping back in. Kratos watched him, silently counting the sets. The purpose of this exercise was for Lloyd to learn to control his momentum when switching from basic angled attacks to the more precise horizontal strikes. As it was, he usually fumbled the recovery from the first strike, and the second stroke of the blade veered from its intended path, wobbling at the beginning or turning up at the end.

"He's been at it off and on for nearly the past half hour," said Kratos. "I showed him the strike several times at the beginning of the drill. He knows what it should look like. He'll get it eventually."

"He's developing bad habits," said Mithos.

Lloyd stopped and panted for thirty seconds, then raised his sword and did the set once more. This time the second strike was clean, but in his effort to control the blade Lloyd did not step forward with the attack. Still, Kratos gestured across the yard and said, "See? He's correcting himself."

Mithos crossed his arms. "And he still cannot get it right."

"Are you offering to take charge of Lloyd's training, Lord Mithos?"

Mithos turned to Kratos with a pointed expression. "I'm telling you what you're doing wrong, Kratos."

"I don't remember you having any problems with my methods when you were the one benefiting from them."

"Of course I didn't. I knew nothing."

"That didn't change without them, you know."

Mithos said nothing. They both watched Lloyd for another minute or so, until Mithos uncrossed his arms and said, "Something must be done."

"He only has ten more sets," said Kratos. "Let him be."

"No," said Mithos, marching towards the center of the yard. "I am sick of watching this." As usual, he made an effort to sound annoyed, but when he spoke to Lloyd, his voice was kind. "Here, Lloyd. Let me show you."

Lloyd, who had just given himself a short break, managed to quickly breathe out a smile. At twelve years old, he was quickly approaching Mithos in height, and had so far avoided the waifish frame that gave the latter a look of perpetual malnourishment. He idly passed his light sword to his left hand and stretched his fingers. "Hey."

"Hi." Mithos held out his hand. "Look. Let me try."

"With...my sword?" Lloyd frowned, but offered the hilt. "So long as...you don't hurt yourself."

"I won't. But look. I think this is how it's supposed to go." He stepped forward and executed the set — quite well, considering how long he had been out of practice. "See how I turned my wrist before the second strike? That's what helps keep it straight."

Lloyd, whose brow had furrowed as he watched Mithos' swordplay, groaned and buried his face in his hands. "How did you just do that?"

"How?" Mithos looked up from the sword.

"How did you do set just like that? How could you tell what was wrong?"

Mithos blinked. When he next spoke, he sounded exasperated. "I've been watching you go through the wrong ways for the past half hour, that's how."

"You've been here that long?" asked Lloyd. He buried his face again and shook his head. "Argh!"

"What?" said Mithos, startled. "What did I do?"

"Nothing. Just that...if you can get that in a half hour...I should completely be able to get it, like, now." Lloyd stood and reached forward as though to take back his sword. "Here, can I — actually, can you show me that again?"

Mithos nodded. "Sure."

He performed the set once more. "All right," said Lloyd. "I think I've got it." Mithos returned the sword, and Lloyd went through the strikes himself. This time, both horizontal slashes cut cleanly. "There," he said, a tired grin spreading across his face. He took a deep breath and settled back on his heels.

"Nine more," called Kratos.

Lloyd groaned and let his head flop forward, but then he hopped back up and finished the drill as Kratos counted aloud. Getting the sequence right was enough encouragement to give Lloyd a burst of energy, and when Kratos called out "one," signaling the end of the last set, he spun excitedly around and asked, "How was that?"

"Good, once you learned to balance those horizontal strikes." Kratos strode forward to meet Lloyd at the center of the yard. "I expect to see those the next time we spar."

"Yeah, of course," said Lloyd. His face was bright red and sticky with sweat.

"That's enough for today," said Kratos, turning back towards the house. It had been the last exercise in Lloyd's second drill. "Let's go inside. You need water."

Lloyd made a harrumphing sound and followed his father across the yard, but slowed down once Mithos caught up beside him. "Thanks...for showing me that. Or helping me figure it out, I guess."

"Don't mention it," said Mithos. Kratos glanced over his shoulder and caught Mithos smiling almost sweetly. He turned back. If Mithos was actually going to help Lloyd train, Kratos couldn't be truly upset about it, but he had to admit it felt like something of a defeat.

"I don't know why you say you couldn't do it," said Lloyd from behind. "Swordfighting, I mean. You could be good."

"Well, I guess it's not that I couldn't," said Mithos, "but I don't really feel like I need to."

Kratos considered his next move. He thought about perhaps subtly pointing out that he was ultimately responsible for any skill here, but he had just used that defence. Eventually he decided that the matter wasn't worth pressing, and it would throw Mithos off his guard enough for him to be honest.

"Well..." Lloyd started. "I do it more because I _want_ to, now."

"What if you decide to quit again?" asked Mithos.

"Mithos," Kratos called, before that could go any further. He stopped for the moment and turned around. "Thank you for helping him today."

Mithos tilted his head and looked blankly at Kratos for a few seconds, trying to find a knife slipped between the words, perhaps, or simply sorting out his reaction towards what may have been a genuine, unsolicited compliment. Eventually he said, "You're welcome. I'm glad to be appreciated."

"I appreciate you," said Lloyd. "You're a good target." He raised his sword over his head and gave a battle cry, then began to lower it in slow motion. Mithos' hand fluttered dramatically upwards to block the blow.

"Skreeaaah!" Lloyd slowly swept the sword's tip past Mithos' cheek.

"Ah — no!" Mithos put his hand to his forehead and practically swooned to the ground. "I am vanquished."

Kratos stopped again. They had made absolutely no progress during this exchange.

Lloyd stood over Mithos, pointing the sword towards his nose. "There! You have been defeated by my blade!"

"Oh no," Mithos deadpanned, clasping a hand over his heart. "It seems...I was wrong to trust you after all..."

This new twist in the scenario seemed to perturb Lloyd. He stepped back with a hurt expression, but then took up the role with his own angle, turning away from Mithos and blocking him from view with an outstretched hand. "What have I done?" he said plaintively. "This isn't my fault! I...was under somebody's control!"

Frowning, Mithos sat halfway back up, then caught on to the script. "Somebody's control?" he gasped, flopping back to the ground. "Who did this to you?"

"It was — uh..." Lloyd raised a fist above his chest. "A..." He raised his chin. "An evil person!"

Mithos' blank stare indicated that he had been ready to give Lloyd points for creativity, and was disappointed by the response. After a moment, he sighed and threw his arms up. "Does that mean, then...you still stand by my side?"

"Of course!"

"Then prove it," said Mithos. He raised one hand. "I mean help me up."

Lloyd took Mithos' hand, clearly intending to pull him up; but then with a vicious grin Mithos wrenched Lloyd to the ground and started to scramble to his feet. Lloyd yelled and grabbed at his ankle before he could get far, and they both fell into the grass, laughing.

That was it. Kratos went inside. By this point seeing them laugh together was fine, but he did not need to hear Mithos extract even mock vows of loyalty from his son. Having no weapons of his own to clean this time, Kratos passed the sword rack and went straight upstairs to his own room. Once there he pushed an envelope of some sort off the bed and sat down with his head in his hands. This did not prevent him from hearing Lloyd and Mithos quite clearly when they burst into the house a few moments later.

"I guess he went upstairs?" said Lloyd as a sword clanged back onto the rack. "My arm itches."

Somebody pulled back a chair. "Like, how?" asked Mithos. "From the exercise?"

"No, like something stung it." Kratos heard the sink running, and the melodic sound of a glass being filled with water.

"They're called mosquitoes, Lloyd," said Mithos.

"No! It's too early for mosquitoes. This is like, something different. Maybe it's poisonous." A glass hit the table. "Here, do you want something to drink?"

"No, I'm good," said Mithos. "Anyway, you shouldn't just say that it's poisonous. At least put something on it."

A pause. Maybe the sound of somebody swallowing. "It's not that bad," said Lloyd.

"All right," said Mithos somewhat doubtfully.

Kratos sighed, pulled himself off the bed, and went down into the kitchen. "Lloyd, what's this about your arm?"

"Heh? It's nothing," said Lloyd, who was sitting at the table next to Mithos. He scratched his arm, then drained the rest of his water. "I'm hungry. We should make something." He turned to Mithos. "Guess what. We cleaned our stove. It's not disgusting anymore."

"It was not 'disgusting,'" said Kratos. This had been false on the last day of the oven's pre-cleaned state. Lloyd had burned some meat while Kratos was away, which was what necessitated the cleaning in the first place. But on the whole, they kept things quite clean, thank you very much.

"Well, maybe not disgusting," said Lloyd. "But it makes you want to use it. The being clean. I dunno, are you going to stay?"

"Hm?" Mithos looked away from the stove. "No, yeah, I came to stay."

"Do you have an idea for anything?" asked Lloyd.

There was a moment of silence. Then Mithos rose from the table. "Actually." He pointed towards the stove, and a grin broke across his face. "I have a recipe. I know what we can make." Before Lloyd or Kratos could say anything, he scooted his chair back with one leg and rushed to the cabinets. "And I'll bet you have the ingredients. It's a very simple recipe. It was meant to be made when you didn't have much," he said, nudging open the cabinet below the sink.

"So what is it?" asked Lloyd.

Mithos stopped and rose with a jerky motion. Then he whirled back to Lloyd, beaming. "Sweet bread!"

"Sweetbre—?"

"It's something from my family!" yelled Mithos suddenly, almost angrily. Then he blinked and went back to the cabinets. "Sweet bread. Two words. It was — I haven't made this in forever. And I'll bet you have the ingredients. It's a very simple recipe."

"You already said that," said Lloyd. He scratched at his arm again. Kratos could see that his nails were already causing red splotches to rise on his skin.

"I did?" Mithos pulled open one of the higher cabinets. "Well, you should have everything. The recipe was meant so that you could make it when you didn't have much."

Lloyd rolled his eyes, and crossed the kitchen to stand beside Mithos. "Look. I think this sounds great. What do we need?"

"Flour," said Mithos, pushing aside boxes of variably stale foods.

 _Skritch-skritch-skritch._ It was really the sound of it that bothered Kratos more than anything. "Lloyd, stop doing that. What's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing, Dad." Lloyd wiped his right hand on his shirt, then pulled a bag from one of the side cabinets. "Here."

Mithos took the bag of flour and shook it. "I don't think this will be enough," he said.

"Well," said Lloyd. "Um. Maybe we can...do something. What else do we need?"

Mithos paused. "Butter."

"We have some," said Lloyd, opening the icebox in the corner.

"But even that's not enough," said Mithos. "We need to melt it."

"Does it really take that much?" asked Kratos, who joined them next to the icebox. Mithos raised his eyebrows and stared up at him with an expression that quietly told him to stay out of it. "I've never heard of any one recipe that requires so much, I mean," Kratos amended.

Mithos ignored Kratos and turned back towards Lloyd. "An egg?"

"None fresh." He ran his fingernails from his wrist to the crook of his elbow, and Kratos thought he saw blood. Great. At this rate, Lloyd would have long thin scars _underneath_ his forearm as well.

They had to have medicine for that. A gel or a salve or something. Kratos went to the counter and looked in the drawer where they kept first-aid supplies, then searched the bathroom, to no success.

"Well, then we should get ingredients," Mithos was saying anxiously when Kratos came back into the kitchen. "We can't not make it, now. Would you—?"

"Yeah, look, I'll go into the village," said Lloyd. "Don't worry."

"All right. In which case, I'll make you a list—" He took a slightly chewed pencil from a drawer. "Do you—?"

"We have paper," said Lloyd, pulling a scrap from the counter.

"Great." Mithos settled at the the table. "All right. We need flour—"

"And butter," said Lloyd.

"Yes." _Skritch-skritch-skritch_ , went the pencil as it scratched over the torn paper. It was better than Lloyd going after his arm. "Butter. Eggs. Sugar—"

"We have enough of that," said Lloyd. "Salt, too, if you need it."

"Okay. I'll...just mark those, then, so you know not to buy them." Mithos tapped the pencil on his lip and stared at what he had already written. "Flour, butter..."

"Yeast," offered Kratos.

Mithos lifted his head and stared straight at Kratos. He hurled the pencil back to the paper so fiercely that its tip splintered. " _Milk,_ " he said, adding it to the list without looking down. " _Honey._ " Spoken with the gravity of issuing an execution order. " _Yeast._ " He tapped his chin again. "Then raisins. Oh, and almonds."

"That's, you know, a lot for a recipe that's not supposed to take much," said Lloyd.

"Well, strictly speaking, you don't need everything to make it," said Mithos, handing Lloyd the list. "But it's best this way. Here."

"Okay, we have milk too. Yeah, I'll get...I think I can get everything..." He scratched the back of his head, then went back to his arm. "Dad, can I have some money to go to the village?"

Kratos glanced at the paper from over Lloyd's shoulder. "That's quite a list," he said, feigning a bit of concern. "You're sure you don't want any help?"

"No," Lloyd grumbled. "I mean, I'm sure. I can go by myself."

"I know you can," said Kratos. Lloyd bristled, but nevertheless trailed after him as they turned to the small drawer where they kept coins. Kratos pressed a coin into Lloyd's waiting palm and said, "This is 500 Gald—"

"I know. I don't need any more."

"Don't interrupt. I want you to use what's left over to get something for your arm at the apothecary's."

Lloyd nodded. "Okay. And...I'll go with Noishe. So he can help me carry things."

Kratos found himself smiling at Lloyd's small attempt to make amends. "Go, if you can find him."

Lloyd pocketed the coin and pulled down his sleeves, then marched out the door with a hasty "bye." The door slammed shut. Kratos sighed. Mithos remained motionlessly in a corner of the kitchen, staring at the stove.

"It's like cleaning a ventilation grate," explained Kratos a few minutes later.

Mithos did not respond. Kratos, supposing he meant to stay like that while Lloyd was gone, headed towards the stairs.

"Stop." Mithos held out his hand. "You're not to go anywhere yet."

Kratos closed his eyes. "Yes, my lord."

"It slipped my mind earlier," said Mithos, "to ask why you are here."

"I am here because I don't currently need to be anywhere else."

Mithos narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "What about Sybak?"

"The situation at Sybak is under control," said Kratos rotely. "The messaging device has been retrieved. The researcher who found it has unfortunately gone missing, along with his notes on its structure and content."

"No, he can't simply disappear," said Mithos. "We don't need them to create a mystery out of this."

"I apologize," said Kratos. "What I meant to say was, he fled town in the dead of night to avoid the repercussions of conducting unauthorized research."

"You did this from within, or from Meltokio?"

"Meltokio. The Imperial Research Academy was quite upset about the breach in conduct." That is to say, he had papers which said they were, which was all that mattered.

Mithos nodded. "Good. And Yuan?"

"He didn't appear to know his receiver had left Welgaia in the first place." Or at least, Yuan had given that as his excuse, but Kratos could tell he'd known exactly what one of his receivers was doing in Tethe'alla. Why it had been in Sybak specifically, Kratos couldn't guess. Why it already contained a cache of sensitive information, he could guess, but chose not to. Yuan had side projects just like the rest of them, and so long as there was no reason to tip Mithos off to his ulterior motives, Kratos didn't.

Mithos turned back to the stove and ran his finger along the pipe. "Then he should be reprimanded for his carelessness."

"That's already been taken care of. I asked him to punish and remove the messenger who was last seen with the device, and he complied." Giving Yuan an easy way to cover his tracks, really. "Evidently he had to remove one of the best scouts in his command." This could not, strictly speaking, be proven false.

On that last sentence, Mithos raised his eyebrows as though impressed. "Unfortunate how that happens, isn't it?"

"Quite."

"It always seems to be the best ones. A waste of talent, and they never succeed." He swung the oven's door shut with a clang. "Of course, I'll be checking the records later."

"Yes, of course."

Mithos stared at Kratos for a few more seconds, as though waiting for a reaction, then frowned and paced towards the window. Kratos gave him a full minute. Just as he turned towards the stairwell again, Mithos said, "He's going to take longer than I thought, isn't he?"

Kratos gave up trying to go upstairs and settled into a chair. "So this wasn't an elaborate scheme to get Lloyd out so you could talk to me?"

"If I'd simply wanted him out of the house, there would have been much easier ways to do it."

Kratos smiled in spite of himself. "Am I to assume, then, that you're genuinely excited to bake?"

"And why shouldn't you?" said Mithos. "I was thinking of it earlier."

"Baking?"

"No. The bread." He drew his arms across his chest and stared at his feet. "I should thank you for allowing me use of your kitchen."

Kratos was taken aback. "You've rather invaded it, actually."

"Hm?" Mithos looked up. "Oh, what I mean by that is, thank you for having a kitchen which I may of course use at my pleasure." He strolled to one of the cabinets and began pulling out pans.

"You've had it here for years. I find it hard to believe you haven't wanted to make this before."

"Well, Lloyd is picky," said Mithos simply. Then he paused. "He really is terrible, Kratos. I don't know what you're doing with him. But in any case, I do not often go out of my way to prepare my sister's recipes, which are far better than he will ever deserve, while pretending to babysit your son."

This. Every time he spoke to Mithos about Lloyd, Kratos gained some fresh insight into to how much they actually did together. It would terrify him if he hadn't decided some time ago that it was actually hilarious.

"I find it touching that you cook for him," said Kratos, leaning over onto his elbows. Now that he thought about it, Mithos' excuse did absolutely nothing to explain why Lloyd had said he'd liked kirima juice one day, and then refused to say where he had gotten the fruit.

"I find it equally touching you think I keep him around for anything resembling true sentiment."

Right. "How should I tell one way or another? You hardly come to see him when I'm here."

"Then by all means stay and gather your information now," said Mithos with a sweep of his arm, but his voice was sarcastic. "As a matter of fact, I invite you. Watch as he answers my commands. See how _attached_ he is to me."

Right. _Right. Keep digging yourself into that hole, Mithos._

Kratos rolled his eyes and said nothing more.

When in a good mood, Mithos was not actually bad company, mainly because he could be counted on to stay quiet, lost in his own thoughts, when there was nothing important to be said. It was about two hours later, then, that Kratos finally put down his book and said, "He shouldn't be gone this long."

"Well, then you ought to do something about that, shouldn't you?" said Mithos, who stood with his back turned, inspecting his meticulously arranged collection of the Aurions' utensils.

It was past midday, and the fenceposts cast stubby black shadows like the teeth of a zipper that curved from one wall of trees to the next. Kratos jogged around the forest until he came to one of the clearings that led into Ozette. Objectively, it was not a nice place. It was half cut off from the rest of Tethe'alla, relatively impoverished, and was blessed by rain every other day. Mithos had good reason to hate this town in particular for its opinion of half-elves, and if Kratos still believed he could avoid every kind of hypocrisy, then he supposed he would hate it too. But he had decided long ago that, for his purposes, it was a good place: a strange, quiet town full of strange, quiet people who recognized odd situations but couldn't be bothered to pay much mind to them. Therefore, the Aurions were generally left to continue in their own quiet strangeness. The only problems came when Lloyd was having trouble with the quiet part.

Kratos continued down the footpath, past the fork where it merged with another. At the end, just before the entrance to the village, he found Noishe sitting to the side of the road, resting his head on a small stump and whining.

"So you found Lloyd after all," remarked Kratos, kneeling beside the protozoan, who lifted his head and barked. It transpired that Lloyd, after meeting Noishe along the edge of the forest somewhere, had gone to the apothecary's first, possibly to break the coin. He had then gotten into some sort of physical altercation with the apothecary's son, and was currently being held at the shop for an indefinite amount of time. That was the point at which Noishe had been told to leave and wait until somebody came to get him, which, Noishe pointed out, _had_ eventually happened, and he was very happy about it.

"You didn't think to come tell me?" No, of course not. Why would he? Lloyd had told him to wait. Besides, this part of the forest was very safe and good for dozing.

"Well," said Kratos, rising, "you can stay here and doze or not. I'm going to go see what this mess is about." Noishe gave his best impression of a shrug and burrowed his snout back between his front paws.

The fight, Kratos thought as he wove his way through gnarled trees and round log houses, could have been about anything, really. Lloyd wasn't one to hit another kid without being provoked, but there were plenty of topics which could spur him to fisticuffs. His friends, of which not one was a human. His family, which was from outside the village and therefore mysterious. His braces, which first of all were from Sybak and far beyond the ability of most people in Ozette to afford, and which, second, looked ridiculous. Kratos realized dully that it could have even been about his scars, simply because the questions about those had never truly died.

He arrived soon enough at the apothecary's. Lloyd was inside the shop, sitting rather stoically at a back table with a pair of thick gloves, picking the leaves off poisonous plants to be used in potions.

"Now please don't get the wrong idea, Kratos," said the apothecary, nervously touching the side of her neck. "I say, boys can sort things out amongst themselves, but he turned himself in on this one, he did."

"I'll bet he did," said Kratos, trying to remember when he had given this woman permission to use his first name. He shook his head and forced himself into a more pleasant tone. "In that case, should I leave him to finish his shift here or shall I take him off your hands?"

"Oh, no, go ahead. I mean, that's no problem. He's been a help."

Kratos collected Lloyd, and the two trudged back towards the center of the village, Lloyd with his hands in his pockets staring despondently at the ground. They were several yards away from the apothecary's before Kratos asked, "What happened here?"

"I went to get something for my arm, like you said," began Lloyd, as though trying to prove that he had done nothing wrong. He pulled a small vial of gel out of his pocket for Kratos to see.

"And?"

"And Farron asked me why I didn't just ask my hellvie friend to patch me up."

Kratos grimaced. Part of this was Lloyd and Mithos' fault for all but flaunting the fact that Mithos was a half-elf in the first place. "Lloyd, do you even know what that word means?"

"No," muttered Lloyd. "But I could guess."

Fair enough. "So what did you do?"

"I clocked him in the face."

A small bird twittered on the path before them. Lloyd kicked at it to shoo it away. Kratos walked calmly past its mate, who fluttered on the path for a few more seconds then also fled. "And that's how you got into a fight?"

"There wasn't any fight," said Lloyd. "I hit him once and he ran away. That was it."

"I understand that you then turned _yourself_ in to his mother?" asked Kratos. Lloyd nodded. There was, Kratos had to admit, quite a bit of nobility in that. "Any particular reason?"

"Because I shouldn't have hit him."

He said this completely without assumption. Kratos exhaled deeply. "Well, if you recognize that, then I don't see any point in punishing you further. Come on. Let's head to the grocer's."

"He never hit me," said Lloyd. "I was the only one who actually fought."

It was as though he _wanted_ to be punished. "He said something he admittedly had no right to say. You shouldn't have to take that sitting down—"

"Of course I shouldn't—"

"—but I'd _prefer_ that you not turn immediately to violence."

Lloyd scowled, but then his eyes fell. "But he didn't even say it in a mean way or anything. Just as though he was asking a question. I don't think he really knew what it meant."

Kratos held out his hand, exasperated. "Lloyd, do you want me to put you in trouble for this?"

"No. I don't."

Well, of course not. Kratos threw him a bone anyway. "Because I'll have to if you get into another fight. Remember also that the others don't have the advantages we do."

"Like in fighting, or in knowing not to say that?"

He'd been thinking of the former, but that was probably the better point. "Both."

Lloyd's fists clenched. "I punched with my right hand."

"That doesn't matter."

"But it was still before he could put his arms up or anything."

Kratos decided that Lloyd was still too busy sorting out his own thoughts about the whole matter to care about anything in the way of punishment at all. "Listen, Lloyd. It's over. I'm not going to press you about it anymore." He held out his hand. "Now let's see that list. We've already left Noishe waiting too long."

"You mean also that we've left Mithos waiting," said Lloyd, handing over the scrap of paper covered in the other boy's narrow print.

"This was entirely Mithos' idea. As far as I'm concerned, we can leave him waiting as long as we want."

"I guess."

Kratos raised his eyebrows. "You're not telling me you don't trust him on his own for an hour?"

"What?" said Lloyd. "No, I mean of course I do! It's just that it, I don't know, doesn't seem very nice."

Kratos paused. Was this a sore spot? "You seem awfully concerned about him."

"Well, yeah," said Lloyd. "I mean, of course. He's my friend. But it's not like — I mean, I'm away from him a lot."

They had come to an edge of the forest where several buildings sat looking over a small cliff. Windows were open to let in the cool mountain breeze, and Kratos saw Lloyd glance uneasily at the storefronts. "What is it not like?"

"It's not like anything," said Lloyd. "It's like normal."

"Hmmm," said Kratos.

"I mean, of course it's like normal!" said Lloyd, distancing himself from Kratos with each step they took. "But you're saying it in a way that makes it sound like there's something weird about it."

"I'm complimenting you, Lloyd. Am I not allowed to compliment you on the concern you have for your friends?"

"No! I mean—" Lloyd's face was now positively anguished. "We're at the grocer's. I can do the shopping myself. Please, like — could you just wait for me over there?" he asked, waving towards the edge of the forest.

Kratos stepped backwards into the forest until he was under a tree, a cluster of leaves covering the top of his head. "Do you mean here?"

"No, Dad, just — stop it. That's weird."

"So I'm weird now?" asked Kratos.

"No, no, but — you're being weird. People are listening. I'm going to go get the ingredients." And he turned and headed towards the grocer's.

"Lloyd, calm down," said Kratos as he caught up. "I'm teasing you."

"I know," said Lloyd, scowling.

"But still," said Kratos softly, "I do wish you would make some other friends." Lloyd shook his head, and Kratos dropped the subject. He fell into step beside his son. "Shall we start with the things that don't need to be kept cold?"

Lloyd's shoulders hunched even further, but he nodded and looked at the list with resignation. "Okay."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Mithos' list had been filled, and Kratos left the village with a considerably brighter Lloyd. They rejoined Noishe along the way, and later found Mithos standing in their kitchen in virtually the same spot Kratos had left him.

"We're back," announced Lloyd as he strolled through the front door. Mithos said nothing. Lloyd placed the boxes he carried on the table, then tapped Mithos on the shoulder. "Hey. Mithos."

Mithos started, but when he turned around and saw Lloyd, his expression relaxed. "Hi. What took you?"

"Nothing," said Lloyd firmly. "I got lost."

For one brief second Mithos' eyes flicked suspiciously to Kratos. "All right. If you say so."

Kratos deposited his bag of groceries on the table, and immediately Lloyd and Mithos set to work. Mithos' accidental comment about them cooking was further verified by the fact that they obviously had a system, namely that Mithos gave orders and Lloyd, for the most part, followed. Nobody told him to leave, so Kratos leaned against the wall and watched.

"First we mix the wet ingredients," said Mithos, gathering the milk and butter and bringing them to the counter. "Give me a pot."

"Do we need water?" asked Lloyd, standing in front of the sink with a saucepan.

"No. Just give it here. The stove needs to be lit."

"Okay," said Lloyd. "We have enough wood."

"Great. Could you light that?"

Lloyd blinked confusedly at Mithos, and Kratos guessed that Mithos himself usually lit the stove with magic. But instead of protesting, Lloyd fetched a box of matches and lit the fire a more regular way.

"And this needs sugar too," said Mithos. "All right. So this goes on the heat and we mix the yeast in it later." He took the saucepan and set it neatly on the stove, twisting the handle to the side. "Now while that's there we mix the dry ingredients."

"Bowl?" offered Lloyd.

"Please." Mithos measured the ingredients, giving them to Lloyd to throw in. "Now if you could pass me the things to mix in...the raisins and almonds, I think. And then we need to add the yeast to that pot on the stove."

"I don't see it," said Lloyd.

Mithos realized he had placed the small wrapped package on the counter beside him. He picked it up and held it to Lloyd's forehead. "There you go."

"I still don't see it," said Lloyd, grinning.

Mithos slid the package to the bridge of Lloyd's nose.

"Like I said," Lloyd chirruped. "It must be in my blind spot or something. Because I can't see it."

Mithos pressed the yeast against one of Lloyd's eyes and pushed. " _Now_ do you see it?"

"All right, I see it," said Lloyd, who took the yeast and swatted away Mithos' hand. The pot on the stove bubbled over, and some of the mixture sizzled onto the stove.

"Oh, no," said Lloyd. "There should be..." He grabbed at the air below the empty towel rod. "Nah. I'll go and find one." He stomped up the stairs, leaving Kratos and Mithos alone.

Mithos' hand ran over some of the utensils he'd lined up. "Do you have a whisk?"

"No," said Kratos.

"I'll—" Mithos' hand settled on a fork. "I'll use this instead."

"Weren't you supposed to put the yeast in earlier?" asked Kratos, indicating the mixture on the stove.

Mithos began to rather violently stir the ingredients in the bowl. "I know how the recipe _goes_ , Kratos."

"I've never heard of bread that requires a whisk."

"Then obviously you don't have a very good memory, because this is how she made it."

Kratos shrugged. "As you say, Mithos."

Lloyd came back downstairs and tended to the stove while Mithos continued to attack his dry ingredients. Within a few minutes it was time for the two bowls to be mixed.

"Don't spill it, _please_ ," said Mithos as Lloyd emptied the saucepan into the bowl.

"I won't," said Lloyd. "See? Not a drop."

Mithos sighed. "All right. Then...whatever ingredients are left. Then we just need to stir." This was carried out. Mithos, who seemed to not want to relinquish his hold on the bowl, did most of the stirring.

"Can I help?" asked Lloyd once the dough had pulled itself into a single unit.

" _No_ ," said Mithos. And then, in a nicer tone: "It's nearly done anyway. Here, you can help me knead it."

"Um..." Lloyd pointed to the bowl, smiling with a bit of embarrassment. "Can I at least lick the spoon first?"

Mithos stopped and drew the bowl to his chest. Kratos saw conflict: assert his claim on one of the most fondly remembered parts of this childhood ritual; or sacrifice a part of the reenactment in order to make Lloyd happy, under the guise of pretending to pretend to be his friend?

"Yeah, sure," said Mithos. He handed the spoon to Lloyd, then took another from the counter and scooped up his own bit of the dough with that.

"This is good," said Lloyd. Mithos, his eyes closed, only murmured assent. Lloyd poked him in the shoulder. "Mithos?"

"Mmmm..." Mithos slowly pulled the spoon from his mouth, then stared down at it as though looking at something else entirely. "It is, isn't it."

The counter was floured. The dough was kneaded, and with much fuss, for the counter was too narrow to comfortably use as a stationary surface for anything. By this point Kratos was sitting at the table, at least pretending to read.

"Lloyd, please don't grab at it."

"I'm not grabbing at it. I'm trying to help you with this part."

"You're going to poke a hole. Stop it."

"No. It's just — I can't really get closer. Why don't we move it to the table?"

"Because then we'd have to put flour on the table, too. Do you really want to clean them both?...And have you washed your hands recently? I haven't seen it."

"What? I haven't seen you wash yours, either."

"I thought you couldn't see, Lloyd."

"That doesn't go for you. I can see you just fine."

After a few minutes Mithos either determined the dough to be done or became too frustrated to care otherwise. He rolled the dough back up in a ball, and Lloyd procured a dab of oil. They put it all in the bowl and covered it with the towel from the stove.

"Now we wait?" asked Lloyd.

"We wait," answered Mithos.

Lloyd crossed his arms across his chest, and Mithos folded his hands behind his back. For one brief second Kratos thought that they might actually stay and watch dough rise.

"So I was able to save the pulley from the catapult," said Lloyd. "I think it could still be used for something."

"Let me see," said Mithos. He and Lloyd went up the stairs, and a second later Kratos heard the door to Lloyd's room slam shut behind them. Having no more reason to be in the kitchen, Kratos followed them to the second floor and picked up the envelope he had pushed off his bed earlier. It turned out to be something the university had attempted to send to the Research Academy. That had to be attended to. Tethe'alla's bureaucracy was not yet so inflated as to be nonfunctional, and Kratos had to be careful to tie off all his paper trails.

Some time later, his work was interrupted by the sound of something wooden hitting a wall. " _Shit! It worked!_ "

Kratos threw down his pen. " _Lloyd!_ "

" _Sorry!_ " called Lloyd across the hallway. Kratos ran out of his room and into Lloyd's, which he didn't allow to have a lock. Mithos and Lloyd were kneeling in the narrow space beside Lloyd's bed. The source of the crash sat between them. Somehow the pulley had been rigged to a base and a spring, and a three-foot wooden arm was now repeatedly hitting the wall behind it with a _thwock-thwock-thwock._

The machine seemed to have been set off in the wrong direction, hitting the wall other than the bed. "Is there a way to _stop_ it?" asked Lloyd anxiously.

Mithos wasn't rushing to fix anything, which all but confirmed that it was Lloyd's design that had failed. "Don't worry," he said, pointing to the spring. "It'll wind down soon enough."

"Lloyd, _move it_ ," ordered Kratos, as though he hadn't already accepted that probably half the walls in his house would someday need to be replaced anyway.

"How do I do that without it _hitting_ me?"

"Grab the base." Kratos stepped over Lloyd to take the device from the ground and was about to wrestle it into submission when Mithos took hold of his arm.

"Stop," he said, though he sounded like he found the entire thing a waste of real effort. "You don't know what you're doing."

Kratos stood aghast as the machine continued to hit his shoulder. Didn't know what he was doing? The device was based on a _pulley_.

"I'm sorry!" Lloyd was saying, standing helplessly to the side. "We didn't know it was going to go that way, I swear!"

"Give," said Mithos. He reached beneath the swinging arm of the pulley and unhooked the spring. The arm stopped with a jolt at its upright position. "See?" Mithos let go of the spring with the manner of tossing something distasteful. The arm snapped straight back down and hit him across the nose before meeting the base with a clack.

Immediately Kratos spun on his heel and left the room. Behind him, he could hear Lloyd going "Are you okay?" as Mithos insisted he was fine. Kratos crossed the hall to his own room, then turned back again and went out. He stormed down the stairs, regarded the kitchen, and left the house altogether.

Outside, he sat down on the old bench against the house. This was where he usually sat to tend to his swords. Noishe was lazing underneath, his tail brushing a whetstone. After a few minutes he groggily lifted his head and blinked at Kratos.

"They're unbearable, Noishe," said Kratos.

Noishe sneezed. Really? He didn't think they were unbearable. He thought watching them was fun. Besides, it was nice to see Mithos happy like this, wasn't it? He hadn't had a friend in a long time.

Kratos put his head in his hand. That second part was a lot truer than he would have liked to admit. "In a way...yes, he is easier to deal with like this."

Yeah, exactly. Plus, Noishe didn't know about Kratos, but he really preferred living on the surface again. It had gotten boring on the comet real quick, since there wasn't anything to play with or chase.

"Well, I don't spend much time chasing things," said Kratos. "But I do have to agree that...it was nice to get out." He leaned back against the house and stared out towards the mountains. There would be flowers soon. The Aurions didn't go out of their way to keep any in their yard, but the plains between the house and the range to the south, indeed the entire area around Gaoracchia, would be dotted with white and yellow blooms.

Eventually Kratos got up. He came back into the kitchen just as Lloyd and Mithos were uncovering the dough, which sat inflated in the bowl looking like a rice bun.

"Now you punch it," said Mithos. Lloyd delivered a good solid blow to the center of the bun, then pulled back his fist for another. Mithos grabbed his hand. "No! Only once!"

"What about the edges?" asked Lloyd.

"You don't do the edges!" snapped Mithos, and Lloyd flinched. "It'll come out too dense! It'll—" He caught the next words in his throat. Lloyd was leaning away from him, looking hurt. Mithos put down the bowl and took a deep breath. "Look, Lloyd. I — I haven't made this recipe in a long time, and...I really want it to turn out right. Could you please just listen to me before you do anything?"

"Yeah," said Lloyd, nodding. "Yeah. Sorry."

They found a pan, and Lloyd re-lit the fire at the bottom of the stove, this time assuming that Mithos wasn't going to do it himself. Finally Mithos carefully put in the pan filled with dough, sighed again, and sat down.

"More waiting?" asked Lloyd.

"More waiting."

"Why don't you light the fire yourself?" said Lloyd. "Use those flames that make things cook faster."

"I can't do that here," said Mithos. "Those flames are technically unnatural. They might alter the taste."

"Are you sure?" asked Kratos lightly. "Come to think of it, I've seen those used before, and they didn't seem to affect the food at a—"

" _Excuse me_!" Mithos shot up and rounded on Kratos. "I am trying to make this correctly, and I find that difficult when _you_ attempt to tell _me_ what to do! For the record, I can't do that because _she_ never did that and if I'm not going to make this like she did then I _might as well not make it at all_!"

He stood over the table, eyes wild, shoulders heaving. The room fell completely silent.

"All right, Mithos," said Lloyd a moment later. "Come on. Let's — let's go outside." He motioned as though meaning to take the other boy by the shoulders, but Mithos shrugged him off and turned towards the door.

"Yes," he said. "Let's." He flung open the door and marched outside.

Lloyd remained in the kitchen, looking glum. "Dad. I'm...really sorry about that."

Kratos leaned over and covered his eyes. "Lloyd, I know. That had nothing to do with you."

"It explained a lot, actually," said Lloyd, his gaze falling to his feet. When Kratos didn't respond, he turned to leave after Mithos. "Okay. I'll keep him out for a bit." He edged through the door and clicked it shut.

Once he was gone, Kratos swept just enough flour from the counter so that the mess no longer annoyed him, then peered in the stove. If his memory served him correctly, this was a heavy bread and didn't rise much. He assumed that Mithos cared enough about it to still be watching the time. That said, he resolved to keep an eye on it anyway, figuring it was currently in everybody's best interests for this bread to not burn.

About a half hour later, Kratos, who had returned to his room, remembered that he was supposed to be doing this. He went back downstairs and checked the stove. The bread looked done as far as he could tell, and he wasn't aware that either of them had come back inside to look at it. Kratos pushed open the front door and saw them sitting out on the fence, Lloyd tossing what looked like a rock in the air and catching it.

"Weren't you two supposed to be watching the stove?" called Kratos. Neither acknowledged him. He knew Mithos, at least, could hear him perfectly well. "Are you not talking to me?" Lloyd caught the rock with both hands and looked back towards the house, as though unsure whether or not he had heard anything. "Mithos, I mean to help you," said Kratos in a regular tone. Mithos held up one finger as Lloyd tilted his head in confusion. A minute later, Mithos swung his legs over the fence and, gesturing to Lloyd, headed back across the yard.

Kratos settled himself nonchalantly back at the table before they came inside. Mithos avoided his eyes and went straight to the stove. "It's done," he announced.

"All right," said Lloyd, wrapping the towel around his hands. "So we're doing this?"

"Yes," said Mithos, pulling the towel from Lloyd's hands and bundling it around his own. "We're completely doing this."

He gingerly took out the pan and set it on the counter while Lloyd put out the flames. With slow, controlled motions, he ran the sharpest knife around the sides of the pan then carefully turned the loaf out onto a plate, intact.

"See, I can never do that," said Lloyd.

Mithos nodded absentmindedly and began cutting thick, even slices from the bread. He kept the heel for himself and passed another to Lloyd. Anticipation shone in his eyes like something balancing on the edge of a cliff.

He raised the heel to his mouth and took a bite. His face lit up with emotion. He nearly gasped.

Then it all fell.

Mithos' head slumped over. The rest of the slice crumbled through his fingers.

"It's not the same," he said.

He wiped his hands on his vest and leaned forward, his hands clutching the edge of the counter. Then he turned and walked briskly out of the house.

The door swung shut, and the room went silent again. Kratos got up from the table and made his way to the counter. Lloyd was standing to the side, somewhat shocked, chewing slowly.

Kratos cut a piece of the bread for himself with the sharp knife. It looked right, with the thick crumbs and the almonds mostly at the bottom. He turned it over and inspected it for a burnt area. Nothing. So he raised it to his mouth and took a bite.

And found himself eating a perfect imitation of Martel's sweet bread.

For one moment, he was standing not in his own house but in a decrepit inn or abandoned barracks, in another dingy kitchen made warm by the fire, as Martel asked, _This won't ruin his regimen, will it, Kratos?_ and Mithos, grinning sheepishly, insisted that he was _only going to have one more slice_ and Yuan rolled his eyes: _Martel, you'll make him a glutton_ , as though that was any danger with what they had available to eat; and Mithos was shoving another slice in Kratos' face, _Come on, master, you know you want to_ and Yuan saying _Yes, Kratos, you're insulting her_ and Martel laughing and saying _If you're going to be chivalrous, Yuan, at least do it right_ and tapping him on the head with a spoon. And Kratos laughed also under his breath, and of course he took another slice, and they all sat there together in a moment of peace, _it looks like there aren't many monsters out today_ and _it was nice to find real honey, wasn't it_? because they all knew that soon enough something would come up or their location would be found, and they would have to return to the road and the rain and blood and hunger that came with it, so they savored their shelter while they could.

And just as suddenly, the memory faded, and Kratos was dumped back in Ozette, standing in a kitchen with his son, watching the lines of his countertop reappear.

"It's really good," said Lloyd quietly.

Kratos remained still for a full minute. "It is."

Lloyd swallowed the rest of his bread and huffed. "I think...I think it would help if I told him that," he said before running to the door.

Kratos knew immediately that this was a bad idea. "Lloyd, let him go," he called, following him out of the house.

Lloyd ran out into the yard, then veered to the left. Perhaps, thought Kratos, Mithos had already left — but then he heard voices from behind the house. Kratos ran through the trees and was somewhat surprised to see Mithos sitting with his back against the door to what they called the shed, though it was really just another room behind the kitchen. Lloyd crouched beside him.

"It was really good," Lloyd repeated.

Mithos didn't move. "Leave me alone, Lloyd."

Kratos had to wonder why, then, he was still in Ozette, sitting against their shed. He could run off into the woods and be back in Welgaia in a matter of minutes. The only explanation was that he wanted something from being here, but Kratos couldn't think of what.

"Seriously," said Lloyd. "She would be really happy that you made this."

"Stop it," said Mithos, his face buried between his knees. "Let me be."

"In fact," continued Lloyd, gulping, "I...bet she is. Right now."

Mithos' voice became dark. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Lloyd," said Kratos. "Leave him alone."

Lloyd turned to his father with an anxious scowl and shook his head. Kratos held out his hands in frustration. Lloyd ignored him and turned back.

"Well...maybe I don't," said Lloyd. "But...I do know that she wouldn't want you to be upset about this. Because it was really good."

Mithos' hands curled in the dirt. Lloyd should have known as well as Kratos what this was leading up to. He had the scars on his arms to prove it.

"I mean," said Lloyd, "I really liked it."

It was almost as though he _wanted_ to be punished.

"Mithos," said Lloyd. "It's not helping for you to stay out here." Another pause. Lloyd reached out to set his hand atop Mithos'. "Come on."

That was it. The moment Lloyd's hand met his own, Mithos snapped. He shot out and grabbed Lloyd's arm, then twisted to force Lloyd against the ground. Kratos faltered for a second, then dove into the fight, pulling on Lloyd's shoulders, trying to get him away — but Lloyd was yelling, "No! Stop it!" and fighting back. Kratos tried to pry Lloyd from the ground, but an elbow hit him in the jaw. He clenched his teeth and distanced himself from the fray. Just as he was about to try again Lloyd prevailed, forcing Mithos' hands to the ground and clamping over them with his own.

" _No_ ," Lloyd was saying. " _Stop it._ You don't have to do that."

With a final jerk of his elbow, Mithos stopped fighting. He sat in the dirt, breathing deeply.

"We're out behind my house," said Lloyd. "It's the middle of the day. I'm here. My dad's here. Nothing's going to hurt you."

Mithos closed his eyes. "I know."

Kratos backed away, amazed. He didn't know what surprised him more: that Lloyd knew how to calm Mithos down, or that Mithos allowed him to in the first place.

Lloyd loosened his grip on Mithos' wrists. "Everything's fine. Okay?"

"No," said Mithos. "It's not fine. I failed."

"That's not true," said Lloyd. "You didn't fail."

Mithos remained silent. "Mithos," said Lloyd. Now Mithos opened his eyes but did not look up. "You — you shouldn't be so upset with yourself about this. Because...I think what you're really upset about doesn't have anything to do with bread." He exhaled. "And I...know I can't really help you with that, but...I just wanted to tell you that...you didn't do anything wrong."

This. Lloyd did things like this. And Kratos was amazed.

"I know," said Mithos again. He drew his hands to his knees and stood.

Lloyd rose as well and put his hand on Mithos' shoulder. This time, Mithos did not resist. "It's okay."

Mithos nodded, then finally looked up. And for one second, Kratos saw it. A smug little smile in his direction.

But it looked forced. More so than usual, that is.

Mithos sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, gently removing Lloyd's hand from his shoulder. "This was ridiculous. I should know better."

Lloyd drew back. "Do you...need to talk about it?"

Mithos, now avoiding Kratos' eyes, stared up at the house. "What I need is to be alone." He took another deep breath and smiled, this one softer. "But thank you for baking with me."

"It's nothing," said Lloyd. "Thank you for...showing me how."

Mithos gave something that may have been a nod in response, then paced around the house and began to leave across the yard, the normal way.

"He'll be fine," said Lloyd as he left. "He...does this."

"To you?" asked Kratos. "Often?"

"Well..." Lloyd looked away. "It's usually over...more important things. And he usually doesn't...stop so easy..."

 _So easy_ , he had said. That. What had just happened. In Lloyd's eyes, that was easy.

"So..." Lloyd shuffled his feet. "Yeah." He straightened and looked back over the yard. "I figure...he needs what he can get, you know?"

Were it anybody but Mithos he was talking about.

"I think he gets enough," said Kratos.

"Well...but he used to not." Lloyd gave a halfhearted shrug. "I think maybe I should wrap up the rest of the bread and bring it to Altessa...or...I don't know, do you think that would just upset him?"

"I wouldn't bother to do that," said Kratos.

"Yeah," said Lloyd. "You're right. He'll...remember it's here and maybe get it later..." He shook his head. "I'm going back inside. I'll clean up the kitchen," he added, with the sense of making amends. Kratos said nothing and was left watching his back as he walked away.

Mithos wanted Kratos to return permanently to Welgaia. And he wanted Lloyd to go with him. At least, he had hinted that such an arrangement would be easier than the tenuous copy of a normal life they had now. Kratos wasn't sure how genuine this wish was, for he often thought Mithos rather liked having a cover in Ozette. Being able to go to a place where he wasn't the closest physical being to a god, but a kid. But no matter Mithos' feelings on the matter, Kratos wouldn't allow it. He would not allow Lloyd to set foot in Welgaia, not because he feared that Lloyd would be unable to leave, but because he feared Lloyd would never want to.

That would be unacceptable. The extent to which Lloyd had so far resisted Mithos' influence was itself remarkable. And the fact that Lloyd, at his best, reminded him so much of the Mithos of the past — optimistic, selfless, _fiercely_ loyal — made Kratos deathly afraid of what would happen should Lloyd's resistance ever crumble.

He wouldn't let it happen. At least, he wouldn't help to speed it along. For Lloyd, no matter how occasionally frustrating and reckless and twelve he could be — no matter whether or not he proved to be a hero — still had the chance to be everything Mithos could have been but wasn't.

Genuine, for one, thought Kratos as he thought of that smug little smile. Uncorrupted. _Whole._


End file.
